Many Journeys by Elleth

Providential

A strange take on the Prophecy of the North, from Fëanor's point of view. Possibly AU.

Clouds were piling up in the mountains, dark with a promise of rain. Crawling they scaled the peaks and invaded the Calacirya, and the sight of the sea was lost.

A strange light reigned, coming from waning Laurelin and waxing Telperion to the West, and all at once from everywhere as though the very skies acted like a mirror. The clouds were the color of lead, and low-hanging like curtains they slowly enclosed the city. The land seemed to diminish (and the Valar shall fence Valinor against you) until only the Mindon Eldalieva shone proudly in the gold-and-silver gloom, scratching the clouds much like his mother's ivory needles would have their marks on hands less skilled than hers.

He had tried them once – after all he was skilled by both name and inheritance - and looked in astonishment and fear on the droplet of blood that ran from his fingertip (for blood ye shall render blood) to stain her laid-down work.

The tattoo of heavy raindrops (tears unnumbered ye shall shed) on the palace windows began suddenly, and through the downpour he caught a glimpse of movement in the square below; a frenzy of gold and white as Artanis (treason of kin unto kin) darted outside and danced in the falling water. How liquid the light turned as the clouds tore, and how it played on her hair! A myriad reflections of the Trees, one in each raindrop as it soaked into her hair and ran in rivulets down her skin, seeped into her dress and made it half-translucent (and fear of treason) until she herself shone with that very radiance!

And then a voice.

“Love, what is it you see there? It seems as though you were staring.“ his wife's voice (to evil end shall all things turn that they begin well) sounded from across the room where she sat in discussion with his father. Reluctantly, slowly, he turned his head from the dancer below to look at them. “But the rain.“ (treason) He turned back.

The great courtyard lay empty. She was gone.

(The Dispossessed shall they be forever.)

Chapter End Notes

The bracketed passages in italics are of course from the Silmarillion, Chapter 9: Of the Flight of the Noldor, as spoken in the Prophecy of the North. No, I do not entirely understand this drabble either... this was only the second time Feanor granted me access to his mind, and I am a little creeped out, to be honest. But I'm sure all of this makes sense on an obscure level us puny humans can't even begin to grasp. ;)

providential prov-uh-DEN(T)-shuhl, adjective:
1. Of or resulting from divine direction or superintendence.
2. Occurring through or as if through divine intervention; peculiarly fortunate or appropriate.

Providential derives from Latin providentia, from providens, provident-, present participle of providere, literally, "to see ahead," from pro-, "forward" + videre, "to see."

(from www.dictionary.com, emphasis mine)